The Invisible Tyrant.
He haunts my day’s dreams,
spits fire from his eyes; a merciless king.
He shelters Pride’s silence, and savors my pleas,
he coddles the darkness that tackles my screams;
severs them slowly, looks on- “Let them bleed.”
The king licks his lips as red seeps through stone.
The dungeon is ghostly, and I am alone.
Parched bones whither-
through cracked throat push their moans.
A chill down my spine calls Hope to its home.
Could you imagine!
A bow with no quiver-
But one day I’ll find it,
And mountains will shiver,
when the wind screams and throws me-
(I claim no right to, no command of the weather)
Thunder's claps will cease, to a tremulous slumber;
To nightmares untold! To fevers unnumbered!
Submit! To the Greatest!
The Great King! Whose hunger
flows through me, for one word.
“My child! Speak!”
To speak is to will the earth to rise!
To shout? Split my tree, in a forest of lies;
With truth like lighting pure and hot,
And humbled by a loosened knot-
When I finally crumble,
Let my boulders tumble,
Let soot be stark,
And my mountains rumble-
Before the valley I will cry.
What I would change, it cannot be seen.
Except up, through the window, in a victorious, golden stream,
that dances, makes these cobblestone walls seem serene;
as a vision of eternal ecstasy,
my Voice rides the wind to rescue me;
to unlatch the padlock, and toss the key;
I will be vulnerable, the prisoner free!